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What would I do if I knew the world would be ending in six months?

Hell, I don’t know. Weep, I guess. Weep a lot. So much weeping. And I would say “shit” a good many times. And eat lots of peaches. And pizza. I would use drugs. In tandem. Cognac sipped in between huffs of paint. I would watch no reruns of Quincy. I would eat lobster for breakfast. Naked. No more shaving.

I would set a goal to see how fat I could get before the world ended and then do everything possible to meet that goal. This would involve large amounts of pie. The preferred pie would be lemon meringue, but every kind of pie would be on my radar, save mincemeat. Hell, even mincemeat. Sniff enough glue and probably even mincemeat tastes good. I don’t even know what mincemeat is.

Music would be listened to, and it would be loud. The Smiths, mostly. I would stop worrying about getting a melanoma. Probably I would engage in some self-delusion regarding the afterlife, skim through Buddhist texts, dream of reincarnation as a molecule in Saturn’s outer ring. I’d fart freely, and with passion. Snorkeling would take center stage; tennis put on the back burner.

If I knew the world were ending in six months, I’d read a lot about dinosaurs and scarf Kobe beef sliders, dance to New Order, watch Candy Stripers III and some of the other soft porn I’ve missed. I’d let my ear hair grow willy-nilly and try to braid it into something startling.

Jay Wexler is the author of The Odd Clauses and The Adventures of Ed Tuttle, Associate Justice, and Other Stories. Photo via http://bit.ly/SxkwVj.